The sky was unusually overcast, grey; heavy, cold drops of rain fell. The wind howled through the empty streets, carrying away with it the dry autumn leaves, whose once bright hues had now faded. The sea roared against the embankment like a furious, wild beast, its waves breaking. The bony, dark branches of the trees trembled.

And yet, there he stood, Dazai, a presence as warm as a ray of sunlight breaking through the suffocating darkness. His cloak fluttered. A playful smile played on his lips, unconstrained.

"You're gloomier than usual today..." his voice is soft, teasing.

Life is reckless, fleeting, beautiful in its impermanence... But even he had his shadows: when war painted the earth with rivers of blood, when despair filled the air - then even Dazai faded. His smile became heavy and the embodiment of life took on a face of sorrow. And yet here, now, in the storm, he remained in front of the user - inevitable death.